Caregiving and Lonliness

You know what’s interesting?

 

At the time of writing this post, I am 43, single (for a long time) and childless. 

 

I’m also quite the introvert. So, I’m not someone who needs to be surrounded by a lot of people. 

 

I rarely feel lonely and I’m rarely bored. I’m quite good at entertaining myself and keeping myself occupied. 

 

Oh, I forgot to mention, I’m also an only child. So, entertaining myself has been a lifelong practice. 

 

And you know what? 

 

For the past couple of years, I have found myself extremely lonely. This is a very foreign concept and feeling for me. 

 

This type of lonely is so hard to describe, because it’s different than what I’m used to, the few times I have been in my life. 

 

I’m with my mom all day, I love that. I wouldn’t have it any other way. And I’m certainly not complaining about that. 

 

But, as she loses her speech abilities I lose that verbal connection with another human being. 

 

Don’t get me wrong, I interact with my mother and engage her all day. And I love doing it. 

 

But there’s also no one else for me to interact with for most of the day. 

 

I sometimes wonder if what I consider loneliness is really more grief. 

 

My mom and I used to have amazing conversations. They were deep, insightful, spiritual, witty and funny. People loved listening to her speak. She had a way with words and now those words are getting less and less. 

 

My conversations with my mom, now? 

 

A lot of days my conversations are like I’m interacting with at best, a toddler. And they’re declining. 

 

I miss “talking” to my mom. I truly do.

 

I’ve never considered myself one that needed a lot of conversation. I guess on some levels, that still rings true. 

 

I’ve often said people speak too much and use too many unnecessary words. It’s true. I don’t feel the need to fill every empty space with words. I’m comfortable in silence. 

 

When I do interact with people on the outside, it’s because I’ve sought them out. 

 

It seems becoming a caregiver quickly and suddenly makes you invisible. Why is that? 

 

I have friends, still. Sorta. 

 

Not many reach out to me, anymore. 

 

When I have a day during the week that I can travel, I go to them. Some have their own issues. I’m certainly not blaming the ones who have stuff going on in their own lives. But, what about the people that don’t? 

 

What’s their excuse?

 

How could they forget I exist? How could they not call or send a text to check up on mom and I? Or just to say, “Hey Candace, how are you today?” 

 

It seems I’m not alone in this. This is a common complaint of all caregivers (among the caregiving circles). We will rarely lament out in the open. 

 

Why? Because by time we’ve gotten to this point, we already feel like people don’t care. And we no longer see the need. Because by this point, what we say falls on deaf ears. 

 

If you really want to know how lonely it is being a caregiver, ask a caregiver. If they trust you, they will tell you. 

 

Know that if you ask us, you have opened the floodgates. 

 

Being lonely means we have a lot of suppressed feelings and emotions, because we have no outlet. 

 

I sometimes wonder if that’s part of why so many of us get so sick and run down the way we sometimes do. And why we actually die at a faster rate than the people we are caring for. All we have is what we do daily. 

 

No one visits. No one calls. We rarely get invited places anymore, if ever. We lose the interaction with the people outside of our daily lives of caring for others. We have no one to lean on for support. 

 

I’m fortunate that I do get out once a week. I often will go by church and talk to someone there. For that, I’m thankful. Without that, I’d have no one. 

 

And the sad reality is some people really don’t have even one person to relate to. 

 

We have to do better as humans, and as a country. We need more support systems in place. 

 

The truth is more and more of us are taking on caregiving roles, as our population ages. 

 

I’m a Gen X’er. My mother is a late generation Baby Boomer. And there are a whole lot of aging Baby Boomers out there. A lot more are choosing to stay home for care. We need more support. 

 

We need truly sincere people to stand by our sides.

 

All too often, after the diagnosis is given, the first thing said to us and our loved ones by our friends and family is: “I’m here if you need me.”, “If you need anything just call me.” 

 

LIARS! 

 

You speak the words you think we want to hear and then you abandon us AND our loved ones! 

 

We need your love. 

We need your support. 

We need your ears to listen. 

We need your shoulder to cry on. 

We need you to be the friend you said you were; the friend we thought you were.

We need you to be there.

 

I’m not saying you need to be there every day. But, how hard is it to make a call and ask how we are? To see if we need anything?

How hard is it to stop by once a week or on the weekends to check in on us?

How hard is it to think of someone other than yourself?

 

Why is it the people you want and need around you the most are the people that walk away from you the quickest in your time of need? 

 

Is it because you think you get nothing in return?

 

So, unless I have something to offer you, you have nothing to offer me?

 

Suddenly, people go from, “I’ll be there for you”, to a ton of excuses.

 

Trust me, if we don’t want you around, we will tell you.

 

I’m not trying to make myself out to be a hero when I say this, but…

 

Despite what I have going on in my life, I still do all I can to make time for others. If I can’t do something right away, I will work out a day or time when I can.

 

Remember the rule of Karma: What goes around comes around! 

I hope you never find yourself in a situation where you’re the caregiver or the ill and need support. And if you are, I hope you are treated better than you treated us. But, if you’re abandoned too…Well, I hope you remember the time when you could have done things differently and possibly have changed the course of your life.